


Baby

by WincestOTP



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 11.04, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestOTP/pseuds/WincestOTP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by that 11.04 promo that shows Dean smirking and Sam buttoning up his shirt, because what else can that mean except wincest?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's been so long since Sam felt good. Since he felt truly alive and happy and maybe--just maybe--a tiny bit hopeful. But he does. He does. Dean had told him about Amara, and the Darkness, and the weird pull that he felt toward her, and Sam would be lying if he said he wasn't worried. But Dean had also admitted, eyes sliding to the side in embarrassment, hand creeping up to rub the back of his neck, that touching Sam dimmed her call. Cleared his head, let him think straight. 

Sam was good with that--better than good, actually. It had been so long since they'd really touched, connected on any but the most superficial level in their day to day lives. He'd learned to live without it, of course, but it had hurt so much. And now that he had it back he craved Dean's touch like air, and he could tell that, focusing abilities aside, Dean felt the same way.

Which is how he'd convinced Sam that this was a good idea. 

Right here, in the Impala, in a parking lot, in broad daylight. Sam was already half hard, just thinking about it--his hands were already unbuttoning his shirt, popping the snap on his jeans and he could swear he hadn't told them to move. But the smirk on Dean's face, the light in his eyes as they darted between Sam and the perfect parking spot--Sam couldn't hold back a groan as he pulled himself out, legs spread wantonly as his hand moved slowly up and down his length. 

Finally Dean slid the Impala into a secluded spot. He was across the seat and straddling Sam's lap before Sam could pull in a deep breath, hands cradling Sam's face, soft lips crushing Sam's and smothering any lingering protests Sam might have. Sam's hands locked onto Dean's hips, dragging him down in a rough rhythm as they rocked together, already so close. Until Dean pulled away with a pained groan. 

"Wait, wait," he gasped, and Sam was going to kill him, he was, he was going to die right here on the spot if Dean didn't start touching him again dammit--then he realized Dean was trying to get his jeans open and off. "Just--just give me--" Dean finally got everything unfastened and started trying to shove his jeans off. Sam closed his hands over Dean's, helping him push the rough material down and off. Dean relaxed immediately as he realized what Sam was doing, kissing him again, slower but still tinged in desperation, rough gasp spilling into Sam's mouth as his fingers found Dean's center and pushed. 

"Fuck, Dean," Sam groaned as two fingers sank in easily to the second knuckle. "Still loose from this morning, barely need to open you up at all—“ He kissed Dean roughly, nipping his lower lip and twisting his fingers deeper and wider. 

"In the glovebox," Dean panted, fingers digging bruises into Sam's shoulders as he tried to take Sam deeper. "Fuck, Sammy, feels so goddamn good--" 

Sam fumbled behind Dean for the glovebox, trying not to knock his brother's head against the top of the car. He finally got the little door open and scrabbled around for the little bottle of lube Dean had stashed there, hoping there was still some left. Dean whined a little in protest when Sam pulled his fingers out slowly and coated them with slick. He started to push back in but Dean grabbed his wrist and wrapped Sam's hand around his own cock. "I'm good," Dean rasped, "just need you in me, now." 

Sam nodded, too close to coming from Dean's hand on him to speak. He bit his lip, watching their joined hands move over him, slicking him up, Dean's ragged breathing and his own pulse the only things he could hear. Dean's other hand traced his jaw, drawing his eyes back up. Dean was gorgeous, lips kiss swollen and red, eyes wide and blown with desire. "Dean," Sam breathed into his mouth, and then Dean was shifting, sliding, and the world dissolved into tight wet heat. 

Dean took him in one long, slow slide, eyes never leaving Sam's as he sank down and down until their bodies were joined completely. Sam's hands locked on Dean's hips as they rocked together, barely able to move in the tight space but it hardly mattered. Dean's head fell forward onto Sam's shoulder as he found that sweet spot inside himself and rode it, gasping Sam's name over and over as his shivered like he’d touched a live wire. Sam pushed a hand between them to stroke Dean's cock, needing to see Dean come apart above him, to see Dean’s face go loose and rapt with pleasure. A few strokes was all it took to bring Dean over the edge, his fingers digging bruises into Sam’s shoulders as he came undone. The tight clench of Dean’s channel around him was so good it was almost painful, and suddenly Sam remembered his own desperation. 

“Dean,” he moaned. “Dean, please—“ Sam could feel the hot, heavy weight of his orgasm building deep inside him, threatening to overwhelm him. “Do it, Sammy, come on,” Dean whispered roughly into the warm damp space behind Sam’s ear, grinding down against him. “That’s it, baby brother, come on, come for me—“ Sam shuddered as he came with a harsh cry, pouring himself deep into his brother’s body, pleasure rolling through him in waves almost unbearably intense. 

For a few moments, neither of them moved, too wrung out and boneless to do more than try to remember how to breathe. Finally Dean pulled back enough to kiss Sam, wincing a little as Sam started to slip free. “Almost forgot how big you are,” Dean says, “—not that I’m complaining,” he adds when Sam’s expression turns guilty. Dean kisses him again. “I want to feel you, even when you aren’t there,” he whispers into Sam’s mouth. Sam can’t see the blood rising in Dean’s cheeks but he can feel the heat radiating from his brother’s skin, and it makes that ridiculous, almost giddy happiness bubble through him again. He doesn’t say anything, just kisses Dean again, slow and thorough until they’re both breathless again.

“We better get out of here before someone calls the cops,” Sam finally says, pulling away from Dean reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go. Now that he can touch Dean again, Sam’s finding it hard to stop for anything less than a full on emergency. Dean smirks down at him. 

“What’s the matter, Sammy, worried I’ll trade you for smokes if we get busted?” Dean’s tone is light and teasing, bringing an involuntary smile to Sam’s face even though Dean is pulling himself up and away. Sam tosses him his jeans and Dean shimmies into them with ease born of long practice while Sam buttons himself up. He smirks himself at Dean’s grimace as he tries to seat himself more comfortably and yanks his wet and stained t-shirt over his head, buttoning his overshirt over his chest instead. 

“Nah, I’m not worried,” Sam says easily. “I think we’re gonna be just fine.”


	2. Past, Present, Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has something on his mind, something he should have taken care of a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In MY world, 10.05 (AKA The Atrocity) never happened, so no fake amulet.

Dean pulls away from Sam reluctantly, wincing a little at the burn and stretch in his ass. Sam immediately looks guilty, and that is the last thing Dean wants. Not now, not when Sam is finally able to smile and laugh, not when the light is back in his eyes for the first time in so long. “Almost forgot how big you are,” he jokes, then immediately follows up with “—not that I’m complaining!” Because he’s so not complaining. Dean’s not into guys as a rule, but Sam…Sam is the exception to everything and nothing in the world has ever felt better than his little brother on him and in him. 

The guilty look on Sam’s face eases and so does the clench of Dean’s heart. He kisses Sam again, because he can and because he wants to and because Sam needs it. “I want to feel you, even when you aren’t there.” Dean hates chick flick moments, hates saying anything so horrifyingly, embarrassingly sappy, but it’s true and Sam needs to hear it. The blinding smile Sam sends his way makes the rush of blood to his face worthwhile. Mostly. Or it might be the kiss that takes his breath away and makes him almost lightheaded with how good it feels to finally be able to touch his brother again—hard to tell but Dean decides not to overthink it. He’s happy. Sam’s happy. The dull roar that’s been buzzing in his head is a barely noticeable whisper tickling the back of his mind, and at this point there’s really not much more Dean wants or needs. He has Sam and his car, both of them lit up and brilliant in the morning light and Jesus did sex turn him into an actual girl? 

“We’d better get going before someone calls the cops,” Sam says, breaking Dean’s chain of thought and reminding him that no, they actually can’t stay like this forever. He pulls himself up and off Sam reluctantly, not really wanting to break contact but knowing he has to. When they get back to the bunker, though…Dean has plans for that day. Oh yes.  
“Aw what’s the matter, Sammy, worried I’ll trade you for smokes if we get caught?” Sam’s smile lights up the whole damn world as he tosses Dean his jeans and Dean doesn’t miss his smirk as Dean pulls them on with easy practice then tries to find a position that doesn’t make his ass ache. 

“Nah, I’m not worried,” Sam says quietly, buttoning up his shirt. “I think we’re gonna be alright.”

That’s the scene Dean’s replaying in his head later that night as he and Sam try to get comfy. Sleeping in the Impala isn’t their favorite—as big and roomy as she is, she wasn’t designed for two six foot plus guys to stretch out in. More than a soft bed and a scratchy comforter, though, Dean misses being able to look over and see Sam, touch him if he wants or needs to. The sound of Sam’s slow, steady breathing a few feet away is reassuring, though. Dean’s missed that a lot living in the bunker, and he’s kinda hoping Sam will want to go back to sharing a room now that things are getting better between them.

He’s got something else on his mind, too—something he should have taken care of a long time ago. Somehow the time has just never felt right, as much because of his own embarrassment and guilt as anything else. But the last few days have made him realize how desperately he misses being truly connected to Sam, and the number of close calls they’ve had in the last two years has made it clear that now, while they’re on the same page and rebuilding themselves, may be the best chance he’ll ever have. And who knows? Maybe this is what they need to really fix the cracks that have crept into the bond between them. He falls asleep still mulling it over. 

Dean wakes up before Sam, still feeling a little antsy but knowing he’s going to do it. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous about this—he’s pretty sure Sam is going to be as happy about it as Dean himself is, but there’s always that chance. But the more he’s thought about it the more he’s convinced: this is the right thing to do, and the right time to do it. He reaches under the driver’s seat and pops the catch on a tiny compartment he’d found years ago when he was working on his girl, deftly catching the little bag that falls out. It clanks faintly, nowhere near loud enough to wake Sam up, and Dean pulls it open and pours the contents into his hand.

A charm bracelet with at least a dozen symbols dangling from it. A silver bullet with the initials JW carved into the base. 

And an amulet. The amulet. The one he threw away in a moment of hurt and anger and spite that he has regretted ever since. 

Dean carefully puts the bracelet and the bullet back into the bag and tucks it back into it’s hiding spot under the seat. The amulet gleams dully at him in the half light, cold in his palm but warming. The black leather cord is weathered but still strong, and the urge to put it on is almost overwhelming. Not yet, though. This is Sam’s choice as much as it is his and he can’t jump the gun or play it casual if he wants his brother to understand how much this really means. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is rough with sleep as he sits up, and Dean’s hand clenches instinctively around the small piece of bronze in his hand. “What are you doing?” He voice sharpens as he sees the black cord dangling from Dean’s hand. “What’s that?”

Don’t panic, Dean tells himself, panicking. “It’s—uh.” He clears his throat, sleep and nerves making his voice gruffer than he intended. “It’s something I wanted to show you.” Dean opens his hand, revealing the amulet. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Sam, even though he desperately wants to know what his brother his thinking. The moment stretches out unbearably, until Dean has to look, quick glance from the corner of his eye that sends him spiraling even deeper into panic mode, because Sam is crying. Not sobbing, no sound…just tears, streaming down his face. 

“Sam....Sam, I’m sorry, I—“

“Is that really it?” Sam asks, voice wet and rough, full of pain and disbelief. “Is that the one I gave you?”

Dean just nods, misery welling up inside him. He should have known better. This was a terrible idea, just like most of his ideas about Sam. “I…I thought…” he stops, because what did he think? That they could just go back to the way things were as though nothing had happened? He’s such an idiot, he thinks bitterly. 

Sam stretches his hand over the seat toward Dean, stopping just short of touching the small figure in his brother’s hand. “How?” he asks softly. He scrubs his other hand over his face, wiping away the wetness. 

“Castiel. He found it and brought it back to me, said he knew I’d want it again one day. I think he was mad at me for…for losing it to begin with. I’ve had it for a long time, I just didn’t know if you…”

Sam nods, then looks up at Dean, tears welling up again but thankfully not spilling over. “Why now?” he asks, voice almost steady. “Why are you showing me this now?” 

Dean takes a deep breath. This is it, this is the end, he can feel it. “I want what we had again,” he says, staring at the amulet. “I guess it can’t be, but I wanted to try. But I get that it’s too late. I’m sorry I waited so long.” He looks up at Sam, tries to smile but he’s pretty sure he misses by a mile. Sam looks like he’s in shock, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What?” Sam stammers. “Dean, no! This—this is the best thing you could have done. I don’t need a necklace to know how you feel about me, but I still miss seeing it every day.” He smiles a little shakily, remembering that Christmas years ago. “This is perfect. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Dean can’t quite believe what he’s hearing given that Sam was in tears just moments ago. But he’s more than willing to take the second chance his brother is offering. He holds out the amulet. “I want you to have it,” he says. “I threw it away, you deserve it more than I do.” Sam is already shaking his head before Dean can even finish. 

“No. It’s yours. The only time I’ve worn it was when you were gone, and I don’t ever want that to happen again,” Sam says adamantly, and Dean can’t help but smile as he slips the cord over his head. The familiar weight thumps softly against his chest and Sam smiles too, wonder and love all over his face. Dean feels like the world just shifted, everything coming back into focus after far too long, and it’s amazing. Sam leans over the seat, and Dean meets him halfway for a slow, gentle kiss full of love, hope and promise. When they break apart, Dean can’t help but repeat Sam’s words from the previous day: “I think you’re right, Sam. I think we’re gonna be okay.”


End file.
